


Come Over Here and Overwhelm Me

by sadscorpio



Category: Hotel Artemis (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, M/M, Modern AU, listen i don't know when this became a thing for me but here we are, me? projecting my thirst for jeff goldblum onto a hot mess? yeah, super ooc but hush its fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-06-14 09:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadscorpio/pseuds/sadscorpio
Summary: In which Acapulco thirsts after Niagara and everyone begs him to stop.





	1. Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. Sometimes you have to write the content you want to read. This is not my first time writing fic but it is my first time publicly posting any so be kind. Also user betakids spearheaded the college au movement (yes I'm calling it a movement because it's revolutionary) please go give their works a read because they're (chef kiss) beautiful, iconic, talented, legendary, we stan.
> 
> (some of this may or may not be based on some personal experiences good luck figuring out what lmao)

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck!

Acapulco knows he’s in deep shit. Everything was going fine, perfectly normal, until this six-foot-four, olive skinned, curly haired beautiful asshole walks into his American literature class. Acapulco almost passes out as this tall, gorgeous stranger scans the room and makes eye contact with him. He sees Waikiki and gives him a nod that’s more of an up-turn of his chin. Waikiki mimics the gesture as he walks past. Acapulco grips Waikiki’s arm so hard he’s sure it’s going to bruise.

“You know him?” He whispers.

“Yeah, kinda?” Kiki looks at him, perplexed.

“Who is he? What is he? How do you know him? How have I never seen him before?” He asks rapidly, never giving his roommate the chance to answer.

“I’ll tell you later,” Waikiki whispers as the professor calls the class’s attention.

***

It’s later. Pulco sees Waikiki sitting at a table in the quad, eating lunch with Nice. He races over to them and throws his bag on the seat.

“Tell me about my man,” He says briskly, interrupting their conversation.

“Nice to see you, Manny,” Nice glares at him.

“Look, whatever you two were talking about can wait, this can’t,” He quips at her then looks back at Waikiki.

“Niagara is not your man,” Waikiki says, trying to level his eyes with Acapulco.

“That’s his name?” Pulco asks incredulously.

“The one everyone knows him by. He used to live in the International dorms, the Niagara suite, before they closed them.”

“When? How did I never see him?” Pulco demands, trying not to slap Waikiki’s drink out of his hands so he can answer him, distraction free.

“I don’t know, man, maybe because I had to drag your passed-out-drunk ass home every night.”

“Wait, you’re crushing on Niagara?” Nice interrupts, a smirk on her face.

“Don’t get sappy on me, Nice, no one’s crushing on anyone, okay?” Acapulco grimaces. Waikiki shoots her an amused look. “You know him?”

“We’ve met, in the campus nurse’s office. Otherwise, I’ve just heard rumors about him.”

“What rumors?”

“Remember when everyone was talking about that guy who swam naked in the fountain and collected all the coins because he was a few bucks short for some pot?” Waikiki asks as he finishes off his salad.

“That was him?” Acapulco asks.

“Supposedly.”

“I heard he once did too much E, fucked one of the art history masters students on the big newton’s cradle statue outside of the science building, and they found him there the next morning, passed out and naked,” Nice says with an amused smile.

“Which is why,” Waikiki explains. “He’s not your man.”

“What do you mean?” Acapulco demands.

“I’m pretty sure he’s the worst, man. You’re already a mess, you’d just enable each other.” Waikiki fixes him with a look that seems warning, but is almost begging Acapulco to let this go. Nice looks at him with as if to agree with Kiki.

“Fine,” Pulco quips. “Crush my dreams. Break my heart. Stifle my spirit.” With that, he gets up and heads to his next class.

***

Acapulco stands next to Waikiki, waiting for his coffee at one of the campus coffee shops. Waikiki is droning on and on about something he learned in his psych class, and Acapulco isn’t even pretending to listen. He scrolls through twitter on his phone and hears the bell on the door jingle and vaguely processes someone walking up to the counter to pick up their mobile order. He notices Waikiki is no longer talking, and is instead waving at someone.

“Hey, Kiki,” The person he waving at says, and when Acapulco looks up, his heart stops. It’s Niagara, his dark brown curls are messy, as if he just woke up. He wears thick-rimmed rectangle framed glasses, and his large iced coffee looks like nothing more than ice and espresso. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that are deliciously tight in all the right places, a slouchy red-and-black buffalo check flannel, and fucking Jesus sandals.

“Hey, Niagara,” Waikiki says casually.

“Hi,” Niagara eyes Acapulco, whose face is now a light pink color. “How ya doin’, sugar?” He murmurs, places a hand on his waist to brush past him, and leaves without waiting for a reply.

Acapulco is pretty sure his brain is short circuiting.

***

“I’ve gotta know more about him,” Acapulco says, rubbing his eyes.

“Let it go, man,” Waikiki sighs as the waiter brings them their food.

“I can’t!” Everyone else he’s been even remotely interested in, ever, has been a short-lived intrigue, and it rolled off his back in a few days, maybe a week. It’s been two weeks since their encounter in the coffee shop and he’s still in deep. “Every time I see his stupid face I want him to call me sugar again and put his hands all over me, it’s a fucking nightmare.”

“Listening to you talk about this is a fucking nightmare.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Acapulco says haphazardly and starts in on his pad thai.

“Look, if you’re this interested in him, why don’t you just talk to him?” Waikiki sighs.

“Wow, a lot of fuckin’ geniuses they’ve got in the psych department,” Pulco says incredulously. “Well first of all, asshole, I only ever see him in class, other than that, he’s nowhere to be found. Second of all, every time I look at him my brain just fuckin’ shuts down. Part of me hates him for making me act like this, and the other part wants to throw myself at him and let him have his way with me.”

“Alright, that’s—”

“I know his dick is big. I know it is.”

“Jesus Christ,” Waikiki sighs and takes a very large drink from his beer.

“I gotta know more about him.” Acapulco rests his elbow on the table and props his head up with his hand. “Who knows him the best?”

***

“He’s alright, I guess,” Niagara’s old roommate tells Acapulco. “Never saw much of him, he was hardly ever in the dorm.”

“He’s a human disaster and a half,” His ex-girlfriend says with disdain. “Great in bed, though.”

“I saw the librarian yelling at him for smoking directly under the ‘No Smoking’ sign once.” Honolulu looks at Acapulco, confused.

“Once he offered me twenty bucks and a tiny pikachu figure for a Xanax,” Morgan, Nice’s roommate, says. “I didn’t have any, so he shook my hand and left.”

“I can’t tell you why he was in here, that’s confidential!” The campus nurse snaps at him and shoos him out of the clinic.

***

Acapulco sighs heavily, pouring himself a drink. He can feel the bass from the music thrum in his bones. He shifts uncomfortably. He’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans that are incredibly tight but make his ass looks great. He tells himself he just felt like wearing them, but he knows he wore them hoping Niagara might be at this party.

He’s almost given up on the tall, dark, and infuriating stranger. He never sees him anywhere besides in class. Whenever he thinks he’s got himself together enough to actually say something to him, he pussies out half way and walks off. He can’t seem to separate reality from rumor about him. The spot on his waist where he touched him is still hot, but lacking. He misses the real, palpable warmth from his hand. It’s miserable.

He meanders back into the party, drink in hand, ready to dive head first into whatever distraction or designer drug that’ll take his mind off of this tragedy. He sits on the couch next to Nice’s roommate, who hands him a blunt. He takes a hit off of it and passes it to the person sitting on the coffee table. An upbeat song starts playing, and Nice and Morgan get up to go dance. Acapulco sighs and sits, converses with the people in front of him. One of them he vaguely recognizes as the guy whose thigh he did a line of coke off of and hooked up with maybe a year ago. He’s contemplating repeating history when he hears someone ask, “Mind if I sit?” He looks up, and nearly goes into cardiac arrest when he sees that it’s Niagara.

“Sure.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat and says it again. “Sure.”

Niagara sits and throws his arm over the back of the couch behind Acapulco. Pulco looks past him and sees Waikiki, looking at him smugly before he turns back to the two people he was talking with. The person on the coffee table hands him another blunt that came from the opposite direction. He takes a hit off of it and passes it to Niagara.

“Oh, thanks, doll,” He says and takes it from him. Meanwhile, Acapulco struggles not to melt into a puddle on the sofa. “It’s Acapulco, right?”

“Yeah,” he says coolly, forcing himself to get it together.

“Call me Niagara. You’re in my American literature class, no?”

“I am, yeah.”

“Yeah.” There’s a moment of silence, before Niagara breaks it with the real reason he came over. “You’ve been asking about me?”

“What?” Acapulco nearly chokes on his drink, all the composure he mustered up out the window.

“Yeah, I saw Honolulu earlier. He said you were asking him if he knew me the other day. It’s alright,” He says when Acapulco starts stammering on an explanation. “I’m, uh, flattered.”

Acapulco is flustered, and he hates himself for it. He hates Honolulu for snitching. He hates Waikiki for sending him over here. He hates Niagara for being so goddamn pretty in the dim lighting of the room.

“So, Whitman?” Niagara refers to the author they’re currently covering in class. “Thoughts?”

“I don’t really get him.” Pulco shrugs, trying to play it cool, though the blush creeping up his neck gives him away. “I never know what the fuck he’s talking about, especially when he’s talking about, what, fucking nature?”

“I don’t know,” Niagara says with an infuriatingly charming smirk. “I think I get it, I think nature can be, uh, erotic.” He rakes his eyes down Acapulco’s body, which Pulco definitely notices and has to physically keep himself from biting his lip. “I could show you.”

A lump swells in Acapulco’s throat. This isn’t happening. Is this happening? He doesn’t hesitate when Niagara stands and offers him his hand. He lets him lead him out of the house, making eye contact with Waikiki as they pass.

Waikiki stares after them as they walk out the door, cursing at himself. He knows he’s just going to have two hot messes to keep up with and look after, but anything to get Pulco to stop his bitching and moaning.

***

They snuck into the botanical gardens by the agriculture buildings. Niagara has Acapulco pressed up against an oak tree, one hand under his shirt, the other gripping his hip. Acapulco has his hands in Niagara’s hair, tugging on his curls as he kisses him breathless. Wet, sloppy kisses, groping hands, grinding hips, night sounds surrounding them. It feels like a fucking dream. 

“I asked around about you, too,” Niagara pulls away long enough to say, breathlessly, into Acapulco’s ear.

“Really?” Pulco responds bemusedly, not exactly concerned with conversation when he can feel Niagara’s erection pressing into his hip and holy fucking shit, he was right--

“Nice doesn’t seem to like you too much. Waikiki said you’re a mess,” Niagara murmurs as he presses a searing kiss into his neck, biting and licking and sucking the skin there.

“Yeah? Well he told me you’re the worst,” Acapulco gasps out. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”

“Maybe. You’re pretty when you’re, uh, worked up.” He smiles at him, smug, and moves to nibble his ear.

“Shut up and fuck me,” Pulco says, irritated, not because of the comment itself, but at the fact that someone said it to him and it didn’t piss him off. In fact, it turned him on more. Un-fucking-believable.

“Patience.” Niagara tuts and licks a line from his collarbone to his chin.

“Buddy, I’ve done patient, now I want you to rail me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

***

The front door opens the following morning, and Acapulco stumbles into the apartment, sunglasses on and shirt rumpled. Waikiki sits at the dining table, eating his breakfast, and watches the spectacle. Pulco closes the door behind him. He looks around, leaves his sunglasses on and goes to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“So?” Waikiki prompts him.

“’So what?’” He asks hoarsely.

“You disappeared last night. You couldn’t even text to me to let me know you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere?” He chides. “I was worried.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Pulco grumbles. “I was with Niagara.”

“I figured,” He says, eyeing the purple splotches on his neck. “You have leaves in your hair.”

Acapulco’s hand reflexively goes to his hair, and he pulls out some leaves and a twig. He puts his coffee down and walks off towards the bathroom, murmuring, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

Waikiki watches him walk away, and heaves a sigh. He sips his coffee and grumbles to himself, “What have I done?”


	2. Uncharacteristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acapulco has a morning-after crisis, yells at his roommate, and then gets laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back and better than ever?
> 
> I finished this chapter way faster than I thought I would lmao don't get spoiled. It's a little short but I have. Plans.

Acapulco never acts like this. Never. He never just sits and stares at his phone, waiting, hoping, for it to go off. He never paces his apartment all weekend, nervous about seeing someone in class on Monday. And he never lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, reliving any kind of situation in explicit detail in his head until the sun comes up.

It’s like, okay. Hookups were always just that: hookups. One night stands. A fun go-around with a pretty stranger and then bye-bye, have a nice life, I’m not gonna call you. He never lays awake and absolutely fucking craves the touch of the person who had spent the previous evening pounding him into a bed of goddamn daisies.

But here he is, sitting at his dining table, staring at his phone as it sits in front of him. It feels like the dark, inactive screen is taunting him. Feels like it has been all weekend. The party was Friday night. The last he saw of Niagara was Saturday morning, when that annoyingly gorgeous bastard had given him a lazy, sloppy, delicious kiss after they woke up, naked, propped up against a tree. Niagara had asked for his phone number after they had dressed, and then Acapulco started on his walk of shame home. It’s now 5:30 pm Sunday evening. He’s pretty sure he’s going fucking insane.

He makes himself some dinner. He leans against the kitchen counter as he eats, staring at his phone on the table. He cleans up. He does some homework. He writes a whole fucking paper. His phone stays silent. He showers. He trims his mustache. He organizes his fucking bookshelf, anything to keep him busy.

His phone, finally, rings. He drops the stack of books in his arms and races to the table, doesn’t even bother to see who it is before he answers.

“HELLO?” He clears his throat, as if he hadn’t just yelled excitedly. “Hello?”

“Jesus, why are you yelling?” Waikiki chides. Acapulco huffs in disappointment and then grimaces at himself for doing so.

“What do you want?” He asks impatiently.

“I’m staying at Nice’s tonight.”

“On a school night? I’m telling mom!” He exclaims in irritated sarcasm. “You couldn’t have just texted me that? Even then, I don’t really care, I’ll call the two places you ever go if you’re gone for a few days.”

“Asshole. See you tomorrow. Hey!” He grabs Pulco’s attention before he hangs up.

“What?!”

“Were you hoping it was Niagara?”

Acapulco hangs up. Annoyed at how fucking soft Waikiki is. Annoyed at himself because, yes, he was hoping it was Niagara. Jesus Christ, he’s losing it.

Here’s the deal. He figured fucking him would get his mind off of it, stop him from fixating. It did the opposite. Now that he’s gotten a taste, he wants more. All of it. As much as he’ll give him. He’ll take every little bit. 

Fuck.

He pours himself a drink and goes out to the terrace for a cigarette. He drapes himself across one of the wicker chairs and puts his head in his hands, cursing at himself to get it together. He can’t turn into a fucking puddle every time he even thinks about Niagara, it’s fucking embarrassing, and not like himself at all. Jesus.

His phone rings again. He answers with a frustrated huff.

“Go fuck yourself, alright? Just go fuck your girl and have a great goddamn time, and I’ll enjoy some fucking peace and quiet, okay, Kiki?” He snaps.

“I’m not Kiki,” A deep voice from the other end says after a moment, and Acapulco’s fucking balls drop.

“Niagara?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles. “Do you not look at your phone before you answer it?”

“Sorry, I—Never mind,” He sighs. “What’s up?”

“Listen, sweetheart, do you happen to live in the apartments across the street from the performing arts center?”

“Yeah,” Pulco answers, confused. “Why?”

“Look down to the parking lot for me.”

He rises and looks down into the parking lot, and sees Niagara standing on the sidewalk, looking up at him. He’s got gray sweatpants on that do things to Acapulco, a baseball tee, and some beat up sneakers. Pulco raises his eyebrow.

“22 E,” he states his apartment number flatly. “Door’s unlocked.”

“I’ll be right up.”

Acapulco hangs up the phone as he watches Niagara disappear to the staircase leading up to his level, smugly muttering, “Yes you will.”

***

“You’re worried about Acapulco seeing Niagara,” Nice says softly, tracing a circle with her fingertip on Waikiki’s chest.

“No. I mean, yes, but not exactly,” He sighs and twirls a strand of her hair between his fingers. “Acapulco’s already a disaster, and I end up having to take care of him. Niagara is the worst, throw them together, that’s just two walking messes I have to keep up with.”

“Come on,” She smiles. “It’s not like Acapulco to get serious with anyone. They’ll probably just fool around until they get bored and then go their separate ways. I’ll give it until the end of the semester, maximum.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Besides,” she says and kisses his forehead. “You need to stop worrying about taking care of everyone else and take care of yourself once in a while.”

“Well,” He smirks and rolls over on top of her. “There’s one person I don’t mind taking care of.”

“Lucky me,” She giggles and kisses him.

***

They’re in Acapulco’s bed, Niagara sitting up and leaning against the head board, one hand on Pulco’s waist, the other on his ass. Acapulco straddles him, rides him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. The sounds of wet kisses, skin against skin, gasps, pants, sighs, and moans fill the air. Niagara moves the hand that was squeezing Pulco’s ass around to wrap around his cock, moving up and down his shaft slowly and teasingly, reducing Acapulco to a desperate, whimpering mess.

Niagara wraps his arms around his waist and leans forward until Acapulco is laying on his back. Niagara props himself up on his elbow and mashes his lips against Acapulco’s, kissing him deeply, hungrily. He grins and pulls back long enough to murmur, “Keep those gorgeous legs nice and open for me, baby,” and Acapulco nearly comes right then just at how fucking deep and gravelly and sexy his voice is. Niagara starts thrusting his hips with just as much fervor that Acapulco was previously displaying. Pulco throws his head back, a desperate moan escaping his throat besides his best efforts to keep it at bay.

It’s too much and not enough and just right, fucking perfect, all at once. Acapulco is overwhelmed and needs more and wants to stay just like this for hours, for days. Niagara’s hands are big and warm and the perfect balance of rough and gentle as he strokes his cock in time with his hips, and he smells so fucking good despite his slouchy appearance most of the time, and his curls are so, so soft, and—

A moan catches in Acapulco’s throat as he comes. His back arches, his nails dig into Niagara’s back, who comes just a few moments after. He pulls out, Acapulco whimpering, missing the stretch and fullness. They lay there for a moment, watching each other catch their breath. Niagara’s eyes are soft as they flicker between Acapulco’s lips and eyes, those big, warm hands resting on his hips. He kisses and sucks at Pulco’s collarbone, leaving a purple splotch. Acapulco smiles, in spite of himself, as his breath starts to come out in a semi-normal fashion.

“Call me old-fashioned,” He says hoarsely. “But I think this is better than a fucking field of flowers.”

“How so?” Niagara stops his ministrations on Acapulco’s neck long enough to ask. “Not that I disagree, just, uh, just curious.”

“Well, I don’t have any leaves in my hair or dirt on my hands and knees.”

Niagara laughs softly, almost whisper-quiet, and his eyelids flutter sleepily. Acapulco looks at the clock, and fuck, it’s late. Or early, he guesses. He manages to wriggle out from underneath Niagara and starts towards the bathroom.

“I’m gonna clean up,” He says, and before he even turns the light on, he looks over his shoulder and softly, but with no less intention, demands, “You’re gonna join me.”

“Whatever you want, kitten,” Niagara stands and stumbles into the bathroom as Acapulco turns on the hot water in the shower.


	3. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acapulco is pining for Niagara, whom he's already having sex with, and Waikiki and Nice are cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just fluff. Really, that's it. Sometimes you just gotta nut up and get fucking soft, know what I mean?
> 
> I done fucked up my sleep schedule and I'm posting this at like 8 am because I'm still awake.

To be fair, it doesn’t make sense to Acapulco, either. He doesn’t know why he likes (well, not likes, he’s not that fucking soft, thankyouverymuch!) Niagara so much. They bicker, and for some fucking reason, he doesn’t mind the insults he receives, because goddammit, they’re pretty fucking clever, and Niagara says them with such fondness, such a sweet smile, there’s barely any bite to them at all.

They got dressed one night after fooling around in Niagara’s apartment, and just as Acapulco was buttoning his shirt, Niagara asked him, “Do you always dress like a ‘70’s porn star?” It caught Pulco off guard, not only because, rude, but because he wasn’t angry. He gets back at him, though, asks, “Do you always dress like you just rolled around in the lost-and-found and kept whatever stuck to you?”

Because, honestly, the man makes no fucking sense. Niagara always looks slouchy, like a fucking garbage can, yet his glasses are designer, he only wears Calvin Klein underwear, his watch and the ring he wears on his pinky are heavy and expensive, and he has a whole collection of pricey, tasteful, name-brand cologne. Why he doesn’t just go all in and dress the part his other preferences suggest, is beyond Pulco.

It’s been two months since they first hooked up. Two whole months of the best sex either of them had ever had, though they’d never tell each other that. Acapulco still gets breathless every time Niagara even looks at him, still turns to putty when he touches him, still flusters at how absolutely gorgeous he is, which is still fucking embarrassing, and a little frustrating. Acapulco finds himself, on occasion, lying awake at night and wondering if he has the same effect on Niagara. Wonders if the kisses he leaves on Niagara’s neck feel just as scorching, if his hands raking down his chest and back feel like a white-hot brand, too. Niagara is hard to read, showing his only three expressions of disinterest, amusement, and annoyance with his eyebrows, but every once in a while, he’ll smile at Acapulco, and it’ll be so soft, so sincere, it stops Acapulco’s heart. He gets so goddamn frustrated with himself for being so—so sentimental about it, because it’s not like they’re dating. That’s not what this is. They’re just… Familiar, at this point. Friendly. Having fun. Keeping things casual. That’s the way he wants it.

That’s what he tells himself.

Niagara lays next to Acapulco, his head propped up on his bent arm, and fixes him with one of those sweet, soft smiles, as if he hadn’t just fucked him like he was trying to break the bed. Pulco can feel his eyes grazing every feature on his face.

“Why does Nice call you Manny?” Niagara asks suddenly, and Acapulco rolls his eyes.

“I bust it open and let you rearrange my guts, and you’re thinking about Nice?” He teases, no actual malice to his tone.

“I’m thinking about Nice talking about you, if that makes you feel better.” He teases back.

“A little. My real name is Manfred. Stone.” He runs a hand through his hair, still somewhat sweat-dampened.

“Manfred,” he considers the name slowly, and his smile only widens. “I like it.”

“Glad to hear it,” Pulco says with just the slightest bit of snark, trying to pretend it doesn’t make his heart flutter to hear him say his name with such reverence. “I prefer Acapulco, though. It’s what everyone calls me, just feels better.”

“Hey, hey, I hear ya.” He extends his hand as if to shake Acapulco’s. “I’m Orian. Orian Franklin.”

“Orian?” Acapulco quirks his eyebrow as he takes his hand and shakes it like they’re just meeting, smirking all the while, because of course. Of course he’d have some pretentious, larger-than-life, endearingly absurd name like fucking Orian.

“Yep. Although, like, uh, like you, I prefer Niagara.” He taps his index finger on the tip of Acapulco’s nose.

“Noted.”

“Great.” He lets out a contented sigh, and leans in very close, his lips brush against Pulco’s ear as he speaks. “Hey, honeybunch, you did this wonderful little thing with that pretty mouth of yours the other night, where you tried to suck my brain out through my dick. Could you do that again for me, darling?”

It’s moments like these, that go from almost achingly tender to absolutely filthy, that nearly give Acapulco whiplash. He can’t seem to muster up a single complaint, though.

“I think I can manage that.” He smirks and crawls on top of Niagara.

“You’re so good to me, baby, so good.” He manages to murmur in his characteristically clumsy, sexy way of speaking before Acapulco gets to business.

***

Waikiki sits on Nice’s couch, one arm around her shoulders as she rests her head in the crook of his neck. They watch some dumb, campy ‘80’s horror movie, and drink cheap wine, and really just enjoy each other’s company. Waikiki especially enjoys being away from Acapulco and Niagara for just a few hours.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Niagara. He’s grateful, in fact, that Acapulco is a much more pleasant person to be around now than he has been in a long time now that Niagara is… relieving him, so to speak, of all that tension. Christ, they barely leave each other’s bedrooms long enough to get in as much trouble as they used to just months ago. But when did they become a package deal? It seems that wherever one is, the other isn’t far behind. Waikiki knew what he was doing when he stuck around after befriending Acapulco and witnessing first-hand what a handful he is, but the addition of Niagara is a two-for-one deal he didn’t sign up for. 

“I can see you thinking hard about something,” Nice says, interrupting his train of thought. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I guess,” Waikiki sighs. “I just… I don’t know, I guess I just feel selfish.”

“Selfish?” She sits up straight to look at him. “Mon chéri, you’re the most un-selfish person I know.”

“Maybe that’s not the right word,” He says, smiling slightly at the nickname she knows makes him swoon. “I just feel kind of bad, because Acapulco is happy, not that he’d ever say that but I know him, and I know that Niagara is putting him in a better mood lately, but…” He trails off with a sigh.

“But…?” She pushes him to finish the thought.

“Do they have to spend every waking minute together?”

“Do you miss your friend?” She smiles, amused, for she knows this feeling all too well.

“I miss the occasional peace and quiet having a hot mess of a roommate who wasn’t always home previously offered. I had to buy some noise cancelling headphones for when Niagara stays the night!” He exclaims in exasperation, and Nice can’t help but laugh. “I’m serious, they’re like rabbits.”

“Listen,” She says softly. “When we started dating, it annoyed me how Manny was always around. Don’t get me wrong, he still annoys me, but that’s neither here nor there. But I got used to him. And he got used to me. And I think the three of us are pretty balanced with each other.” She pours herself another glass of wine. “He’s still a co-dependent, narcissistic jackass, but he’s more tolerable now that Niagara is in his life.”

“That’s because Niagara is also a co-dependent, narcissistic jackass.”

“Well,” She shrugs. “What’s that saying? Birds of a feather?”

“They flock together,” He says and puts his arm around her as she settles against him once more. “Do we flock together?”

“We definitely flock,” She laughs and kisses him.

***

It’s quiet. The ceiling fan whirs softly, the sky is turning a light gray as the morning rolls in. Niagara breathes softly as he sleeps, and Acapulco lays awake, just looking at him. His features soften sweetly when he sleeps; his jaw relaxes, his lips part slightly, his eyelids flutter just a bit as he dreams. His long arms, tight grip even in his sleep, hold Acapulco against him, his long legs tangle with the other’s.

Niagara murmurs something softly in his sleep that Pulco can’t quite make out, but he doesn’t worry too much about. He’s awfully content just laying there, warm against his chest, watching the way his curls tousle just slightly under the fan.

It’s a breath-taking sight, and Pulco softens at the thought that no one ever sees him like this, so gentle, so serene. It’s disgusting how affectionate, how mushy he feels when he looks at the other like this. So saccharine, so sickeningly sweet, he feels like he needs to brush his teeth. God, when did he become such a sap?

Maybe he is that soft, after all.

Maybe he doesn’t mind.


	4. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does he love Niagara?
> 
> Does he really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see, y'all. I just finished my last course for my degree and started training for a new position at work, so I've been a little busy, but make no mistake, I think about these idiots every minute of every day.
> 
> This chapter went in a Completely Different Direction than I originally intended, but? Oh, well?
> 
> The next chapter might be the last one, but idk, we'll see.

Alright. Maybe they’ve grown a little more attached to each other than either of them thought they would. Maybe they’re okay with that. Maybe Acapulco doesn’t mind getting pinned under Niagara’s weight when they’re watching a movie or just laying in bed and not being able to move. Maybe Niagara is more amused than annoyed when Acapulco runs his mouth and gives him attitude and snark. Maybe Acapulco misses the heat Niagara gives off when he’s not there. Maybe Niagara likes Pulco wrapping every one of his limbs around him when they’re falling asleep.

Fine. Whatever.

But this? This was entirely new to Acapulco.

They were supposed to have gone to a party tonight. But Niagara is sick. Told Pulco to go on without him, no reason for both of them to be miserable. And in about a minute and thirty seconds, Pulco made himself come to terms with the fact that he didn’t even want to go to the party if Niagara wasn’t going to be there. In fact, he realized, he never really wanted to go to the party at all, he just wanted to spend the time with Niagara. He couldn’t even make himself care that he wouldn’t be getting any for a few fucking days, probably, because Niagara is sick. He honestly just wanted Niagara to get better and to be with him.

So, he told Nice and Waikiki that he wasn’t going, and after some fucking ridiculous teasing about “playing nurse with his boyfriend” (“HE’S NOT MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND, OKAY?”), he decided to make a few stops on his way to Niagara’s.

It doesn’t occur to him what he’s done until he pulls up to his apartment building: he made him a fucking care package. He went to the grocery store and bought him extra strength nighttime cold and flu medicine, tissues (the good kind, with lotion or whatever the fuck in them), cough drops, some fuzzy socks (infused with aloe and shea butter) so his feet didn’t get cold. He stopped at the café on his way and got him some soup and a hot tea with lemon and honey. Who the fuck has he become?

He runs up the stairs, desperate to get out of the cold, and knocks on Niagara’s door. He hears him groan “who the fuck,” followed by trudging footsteps, and finally the door knob jiggle a little as he peers through the peep hole. The door opens, and Niagara, though a bit confused, looks genuinely happy to see him. He smiles one of those sweet smiles that make Acapulco weak in the knees, and Pulco tries not to notice how concerned he feels when he sees how ill Niagara actually looks; his skin is paler than usual, his nose bright red from the cheap tissues he had that might as well be sandpaper, his eyes are a bit watery, and he looks absolutely exhausted.

“What are you doing here?” Niagara asks as Acapulco walks in and sets his bags down on the kitchen table.

“Well, you sounded like you were on death’s door, and I knew you weren’t going to actually take care of yourself, so I got you some stuff.” He explains as he empties the bags. He turns around and hands him the tea he got him. “Drink that, it’ll help your throat.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” He smiles appreciatively and sits at the table. “But, really, you didn’t have to do this.”

Acapulco shrugs and grabs two bowls from the cabinet and divides the soup between them. When he sets them down on the table, he takes a moment to rest the back of his hand against Niagara’s forehead, and frowns.

“You have a fever.”

“Probably,” He says simply as he eats his soup. “Are you going to nurse me back to health?” He teases.

“Yeah, but purely for selfish reasons.” He starts in on his own bowl of soup.

“Which are…?”

“I can’t very well get any dick when you’re sick, now can I?” He winks at him. “You’re no good to me in this state.”

“In that case, I’m, uh, ready for my sponge bath, nurse,” He chuckles.

“You can go fuck yourself,” he says with no bite at all. “I have to admit, though, your voice is kinda sexy right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, kinda scratchy, a little deeper than usual. It’s hot.”

Just as he says it, Niagara’s eyes go unfocused, and he sneezes, loudly, thick mucus shooting out of his nose. He reaches for the tissues Acapulco brought and blows his nose unceremoniously, which in turn makes him cough for a moment. Acapulco smirks cheekily.

“Very sexy,” He snickers.

“Oh, I’m sure. Aren’t I just a—vision?” He sighs and reads the directions for the cold medicine.

***

Niagara curls himself around Pulco, sighing comfortably at the warmth of his body under the blankets. Even through his flannel pajamas, his body is cold to the touch, and his forehead blazes with a fever. Acapulco pulls him closer, trying to warm him up. Their faces come close enough that Pulco can smell the cool menthol and cherry flavoring of the cold medicine, which has nearly put the other to sleep. 

“Won’t you get sick?” Niagara asks hazily.

“Maybe. But then you can take care of me,” Acapulco says softly, and Niagara laughs sleepily. “Get some sleep.”

“’Kay,” he yawns, and Pulco thinks he’s asleep when he quietly and slowly murmurs, “Love you.”

Every muscle in Acapulco’s body tenses. His eyes fly wide open, and his heart and mind start racing. Did he say…? No, he misheard him. Even if that’s what he actually said, he had taken a full dose of cold medicine, and was half asleep. Maybe he was talking in his sleep, people say all kinds of crazy things in their sleep, right? In any case, Pulco rationalizes that Niagara’s not in the right head space, be it from the fever or the medicine or the exhaustion, and he shouldn’t take anything he says right now seriously.

He makes himself swallow the words he, for some god fucking knows reason, wants to say. Because he really wants to say them. Desperately. But if he says them out loud, they’ll become true. If he says them out loud, he’ll have to deal with it.

So he bites his tongue, and instead presses a wordless kiss to Niagara’s heated forehead, and drifts off to sleep, thinking of the words, “Love you, too.”

***

Does he love Niagara? Like, does he, really? He can’t say that he’s ever loved anybody before, so how can he really know? What’s his basis for comparison?

Acapulco lays awake at 3 am, woken by a loud clap of thunder outside. When had it started raining? Niagara is still sound asleep, his face pressed against Acapulco’s neck, his arms wrapped tightly about his middle as he presses himself close, sharing their body warmth. Pulco can’t help but smile when he murmurs softly in his sleep, almost purring like a cat.

Okay. Here’s what he knows for sure: he cares about Niagara. He’s fond of him. He wants to spend time with him, whatever they’re doing. He wants him to get better, because he doesn’t like seeing him this miserable. He knows that they compliment each other. Sure, they might be the messiest, most co-dependent people on the west coast, but Pulco’s mouthy tendencies and Niagara’s deadpan silence balance each other out. No one ever tolerated, let alone actually enjoyed, Acapulco’s bad habits and crass ways. Niagara not only puts up with him, but enjoys him, he thinks.

He knows Niagara’s smile makes him weak. He knows his voice is almost addictive. He knows his laugh makes him all warm and fuzzy inside. He knows he feels safe and content in his arms. He knows his eyes are the most entrancing shade of brown he’s ever seen. He knows he’s happy when he’s around him.

And Pulco realizes that if he brought the whole incident up to Niagara, and Niagara confirmed any of his rationalizations, it would actually break his heart.

Why?

Does he love Niagara? Does he really?

***

The sun is just coming up, the sky still mostly gray outside the window. Niagara wakes up, head still a little hazy, to find Acapulco laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, wide awake. His eyes are focused at nothing in particular, and his jaw works soundlessly, deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” Niagara rasps, unsure if it’s because he just woke up, or he’s still sick.

“… How strong is that cold medicine?” Acapulco asks after a long moment. 

“What?” He raises his head a little without moving away, wanting to stay in the shared warmth between them.

“How strong is it?” He repeats himself, still staring at the ceiling. “I mean, that stuff usually makes me have weird dreams. Did you—dream? At all?”

Niagara eyes him, confused, but suspicious, the distinct feeling of knowing he’s not hearing the whole story buzzing faintly in the back of his mind.

“A little, I guess?” He shifts so he can prop himself up on his elbow, body still pressed against Acapulco. “Why?”

“You, just, uh,” he stammers, thinking about what he’s going to say before he says it, which is very uncharacteristic of him. “You talked a little. In your sleep, I think. Just, y’know, wanted some context.” Something like, but not quite, panic settles into his voice. “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

“Sort of.” He thinks for a moment. “It’s like I was asleep, but not really. Somewhere between sleep and awake. And I was remembering that you brought me soup, which was really good, and really nice, and I was grateful.” He explains and watches Pulco’s face very carefully. Acapulco smiles slightly, but otherwise keeps his gaze fixed upwards.

“Anything else?”

“Honey,” He clears his throat. “Not that this beating around the bush routine isn’t cute, but why don’t we cut the bullshit, and you come out and tell me what’s bothering you?”

Acapulco flushes, and struggles to find how to word it. Niagara watches him patiently as he opens his mouth, only to close it again, and then finally sighs.

“You just, um, you said something, and I just wanted to know what you meant.” He glances out of the corner of his eyes, and Niagara raises his eyebrows at him, urging him to continue. “You said—um, you said,” he babbles, his mouth growing drier and drier by the second.

“Come on, you can tell me,” Niagara says softly, genuinely, and Acapulco’s heart nearly beats out of his chest. “What did I say that’s got you so worked up? I mean, I was mostly asleep, I can’t apologize for what I don’t know I did.”

“Apologize?” His head turns so fast to look at Niagara, he’s pretty sure he got whiplash. He looks at him, alarmed. “No, it’s not like that, it didn’t upset me, it just—caught me off guard, I guess.”

“What was it, then? Come on, sugar, you got me at the edge of my seat here.”

“You really don’t know?” Acapulco whispers, and Niagara registers—what, in his voice? Hurt? Anxiety?

It’s his turn to struggle for words. Anything, anything to get that wounded, afraid look off of Acapulco’s face. It’s torture to see him like that, even more so when it’s his fault, he just doesn’t know why—

Oh.

It clicks, suddenly, as he remembers, faintly, through the fog of the cold medicine, that he thought of the warmth he felt not only physically next to Acapulco, but on the inside, in every part of his body, the pure warmth and intrigue and adoration, and—and…

“I think I do,” He whispers back to him.

“Did you—did you mean it?” Their eyes finally meet, and Acapulco hates this, hates how vulnerable he feels, but at the same time, he wants to spill his guts, wants to share every thought he’s ever had with Niagara, feels safe being this open with him. He feels tender, like an exposed nerve, but the way his heart races isn’t entirely unpleasant. 

Niagara looks at him, long and hard. His brown eyes are soft and warm, his smile is sweet and fond. Something rushes through him and makes his head cloudy, and for a moment, he thinks it might be the cold medicine, but no, it’s something visceral, strong, almost overwhelming, but in a good way, it’s—it’s—

“I did.” He fixes Pulco with that breathtakingly sweet, sincere smile. “I do.”

Acapulco’s heart stops, but not in alarm. His heart hurts, it physically fucking hurts, but not in a bad way, not at all. The feeling is completely alien to him, a little nerve-wracking, but he finds that he’s open to it, and finally succumbs to that which he suddenly realizes he’s been ignoring for a while now.

“I do, too.” He smiles at him, too, and tries to convey that same, gentle feeling. Niagara moves forward to kiss him, and Acapulco dodges him. “Hey, you’re still sick! What is this, you tell me you love me, and then you try to give me the plague you’ve got?” He exclaims, but can’t keep the affection out of his voice.

Niagara rolls his eyes and rolls over on top of Acapulco, trapping him under his weight and kisses him, and it feels like they’re doing it all for the first time again. They’re smiling, and they’re laughing, and they’re happy.

And Acapulco does love Niagara.

He really does.


	5. Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They do some mundane grocery shopping and have couch sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (shows up two months late with starbucks) hey  
> Y'all ever stop hyperfixating on something and have no motivation to work on it? Yeah. Yeah, Mood.  
> I couldn't NOT finish this, it's just a little (two months) late. But I give a short, sweet finale. Hotel Artemis may be dead but this was a really fun fic to write, and even though it took a brief (two month) hiatus, I'm proud of it, and I hope y'all enjoy this final chapter.

Niagara’s got Acapulco fixed with one of those stubborn, unmoving looks, and he has to stifle the urge to throw himself at him right then and there in the middle of the grocery store. Niagara reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it, all the while keeping eye contact with Acapulco, who’s about to fucking scream.

“It doesn’t say ‘cookies’ on the list—”

“Fuck the list!” Acapulco exclaims. “I want some fucking cookies, so I’m gonna buy some fucking cookies!”

“I’m just saying, why bother with a list if you’re going to stray from it?” Niagara murmurs as Acapulco puts the sleeve of cookies in the cart. 

Acapulco sighs heavily in fake exasperation, and Niagara smiles in amusement.

“I can’t stand you,” Pulco says as Niagara pushes the cart forward.

“You love me.” He kisses his temple and keeps moving forward. 

“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Acapulco grumbles and rolls his eyes.

They’re disgusting, really. Pulco never thought he was capable of loving anyone at all, let alone this much. He moved in with Niagara. He lays awake at night, just watching him sleep, thinking about how much he loves him. Niagara kisses him awake every morning, tells him he loves him every night before they go to sleep. When they’re alone, he calls him Freddie, and he pretends to hate it, but it makes him smile every time. They bought new furniture together. Gross.

“Tell you what,” Niagara says, voice low. “If you can make it the rest of this grocery trip without being a brat, I’ll do my best to break our new bed with you later.”  
Pulco’s blood runs hot and his mouth goes dry, aroused and delighted by the proposition.

“It’s not in my nature to be anything else, but I’ll see what I can do.”

***

Acapulco walks through the door of the apartment, to see Niagara, clad only in a pair of sweatpants and his glasses, standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, staring at their new couch.

“They delivered the couch?” He drops his bag by the door.

“While you were in class, yeah,” Niagara murmurs his response.

It’s a nice, neutral gray, plush and comfortable. Navy throw pillows have already been arranged at each end, a matching blanket thrown over the arm. A perfectly fine couch, like it was right out of the fucking Ikea catalogue.

“Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Then why are you just staring at it like that?” Pulco takes a seat, getting comfortable, props his feet up on the coffee table.

“We’ve had sex on every other surface in thus apartment, but this one’s brand new.” He mumbles.

Pulco smirks, takes his feet off the coffee table, and looks up at Niagara through his eyelashes.

“Get over here, then.”

***

Acapulco tells Niagara to keep his glasses on. He complies. Niagara asks Pulco to call him some bizarre name like Apollo the Sun God, or something. Pulco tells him to go fuck himself.

It was softer than usual, more tender. Their kisses were less hungry, more sensual. Their hands weren't as desperate, but more gentle, holding on tight, but not bruising. Niagara presses chaste kisses against Pulco's jaw, his neck, his chest. Acapulco cards his hands through his hair as he rides him slowly, relishing every grunt, every sigh. Niagara comes with groan, Acapulco's name on his lips. He comes shortly after, burying his face into Niagara's shoulder. He faintly registers Niagara scratching softly at the nape of his neck, his other hand rubbing small circle into the small of his back. It's so sweet, so gentle, he nearly swoons.

Acapulco sits up, coming down from his climax, relishing in the afterglow. He kisses Niagara on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re gonna get nose prints on my glasses.” Niagara laughs breathlessly. 

“Good,” He murmurs with a smile and pushes some hair out of Niagara’s face.

Niagara looks up at him, smiling dreamily. He brings Pulco’s hand to his lips and places soft kisses against the back, his palm, his wrist. Pulco somehow manages to blush deeper. 

“Kiki and Nice are having a Friendsgiving, and they want us to come,” Niagara says softly. “What are we bringing?”

“Bottle of wine?” Pulco suggests, trying not to laugh at the mental image of them trying and failing to make a pie.

“Sounds easy, I like it.” He sighs contentedly and wraps his arms around Acapulco’s waist. “Freddie?” He calls to him barely above a whisper. Acapulco hums a response. “I love you.”

Acapulco looks him in his eyes. His big, brown, beautiful eyes, and he’s reminded of the first time he saw him last year. Wanting to pass out when they locked eyes. Instantly wanting to know every detail about him. The distinct feeling of knowing he was in deep shit. He remembers the first time they touched each other, how big and warm and strong his hands felt against him, how his lips felt against his neck. Their first fight, over something stupid. The first time they said they loved each other. How in love he still is with him.

“I love you, too. You idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that twitter account was deleted because... hyperfixation over lmao. HOWEVER, check out the playlist I made/listened to while writing this https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KNT4riVmxOKWmB59YkIsH

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Overwhelming" by Jon Bellion, and it slaps. Follow me on twitter @HotelAss for more Hotel Artemis shenanigans.


End file.
